


Rise of Four

by Sapphire_Raindrop



Category: Big Four, Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of The Brave Tangled Dragons - Fandom, Rise of the Guardians (2012), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Hogwarts AU, I know which ones I WANT to happen, I mean let's not fool ourselves, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons, This is my BABY guys, but muses are bitches and sometimes they demand other outcomes, not sure what pairings will happen, so I hope you like my writing regardless of whether you enjoy possible pairings that may happen, so much build-up, the big four
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire_Raindrop/pseuds/Sapphire_Raindrop
Summary: The wizarding world is at peace but a great conflict stirs beneath the surface. A prank gone wrong brings four Hogwarts students together; each of them holds a key to preventing the rising war, but in order to do so they must work together. Can a stubborn Gryffindor, an overly-optimistic Hufflepuff, a lonely Ravenclaw and an ostracized Slytherin ever hope to overcome their differences?[originally posted on FF.net in 2014 under my FF.net name Sapphire-Raindrop]





	1. Prologue

 

Prologue: The Sorting Hat

* * *

 

 

            If asked to describe the Sorting Hat in a single sentence, Albus Dumbledore would use the word ‘illuminating’ and nothing else. Technically it was not a sentence but the old wizard had found that the most intriguing aspects of magic simply couldn’t be described. He was a master of nearly every form of magic—he had read countless volumes dedicated to explaining and embellishing magic—and yet the mysteries of the Sorting Hat left him without words. 

            The Start-of-Term Feast would be starting soon but for a few precious minutes Albus simply examined the hat. Just before he had to leave to join the rest of the staff, he would do what he did every year: he would put on the hat and hear what it had to say.

            Albus stared down at its dusty form, so dull against the gleaming surface of his desk. Fawkes trilled from his perch and the wizard looked up at the phoenix, reaching up to lightly trace the feathers atop his reddish gold head.

            “All in good time, my dear friend. All in good time,” he murmured.  

Fawkes crooned, nipping his fingers so gently that Albus barely felt it. The silver-haired wizard stole a glance at the delicate pocket-watch hanging from Fawkes’ perch and estimated that he had at least five more minutes before he was expected in the Great Hall.

            Five minutes was plenty of time.

            Albus reached out with graceful fingers, and plucked the hat from its spot. It lay limp in his hands, as it always did, and he chuckled before slowly pulling the rim down over his eyes.

            The outside world was muted, unnatural darkness reigned, and even though the bottom of the hat was open around his face no light entered the hat. It was a harmless enchantment to ensure that the wearer was less prone to distraction, though it must be quite unnerving to unsuspecting first-years.

            Not even five seconds had passed before the Hat’s nasally tone filled his ears.

            _Right on schedule, Dumbledore. Will you ever tire of trying to_ sort _me out?_

            The Hat chuckled at its own choice of words. Dumbledore smiled pensively, choosing not to reply. The Hat seemed to sigh, then, and its tone was much less mocking when it continued.

            _Perhaps I should rephrase my question: will you ever stop trying to sort_ yourself _out?_

_“_ The human mind can always benefit from introspection _,”_ Albus replied.

            _True,_ the Hat conceded, _But there is also a time to set aside the grading quill. I can see all that you hide from the world, Dumbledore, and as always there is nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know. You are not in risk of walking that path again. Isn’t that enough?_

_“_ Am I safe in assuming that you are ready for the newest batch of students?” the old wizard asked, ignoring the Hat’s question and asking the same question he asked every year. Part of him knew that he should heed the Hat’s advice but how could he ever be _truly_ sure that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes?

            Albus had almost destroyed the wizarding world by allowing Gellert Grindlewald to rise to power, had almost aided in the destruction of the Muggle world because he was too blinded by love to see the truth. Luckily, he had come to his senses in time, but ever since then he had been on constant guard against himself.

            After Gellart was defeated, an era of tranquility had settled over the wizarding world, a time of peace and plenty. But as long as he could remember his past Albus would have no rest. Perhaps that was his curse, an added punishment for all of his wrongdoings.  

            _I am, Dumbledore,_ the Hat replied after a long, tense silence.

And so Albus, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, removed the hat from his head. He replaced it with a bright purple hat of his own, patterned with glittering stars and crescent moons. Slipping on his equally purple robes, the man strode from the room, the Sorting Hat held reverently in his grasp along with his wand.

            Half an hour later Dumbledore found himself in his usual seat at the staff table, chatting merrily with Pomona Sprout. The Great Hall was looking magnificent as usual, the ceiling lit up with a clear night sky that twinkled with stars. Candles floated above each of the House tables, reflecting against the porcelain plates set before each seat. The students talked amongst themselves while they waited for the incoming first-years to arrive and their voices were a balm to Albus’ somber mood.

            The children were a reminder. A beautiful, wonderful reminder of the _good_ Albus was capable of. Whenever the Headmaster gazed out at the hundreds of witches and wizards, he felt the weight in him ease slightly. For all of Albus’ fame and renown, the students that sat before him now would be the ones who shaped the future.

            Albus had done his part to try and control the fate of the wizarding world and that had resulted in the loss of everything he held dear. Sweet, innocent Ariana, his mother, his brother Aberforth, his beloved Gellert…they were all cruel marks on his spirit that would never fade or heal. All he could do was try to make up for his mistakes, to give the future generations the tools they needed to succeed along with the proper guidance so that none would follow in their Headmaster’s footsteps.

            The Great Hall’s doors opened with a deafening groan and the entire congregation fell silent. Apparently, the sight of frightened first-years was much more interesting than idle conversation. Pomona gave Albus a knowing wink and settled into her seat, her expression warm as she beheld the young ones following Minerva McGonagall across the hall. Albus studied the first-years, placing his fingers together in an arch.

            One of the children immediately caught his eye, the reason being his hair. It was unusually messy and spiky, to be sure, but that wasn’t the reason whispers followed him. The boy’s hair was pure white, almost silver in the candlelight.

            The boy was one of the only first years who wasn’t nervously looking around. Instead, the child seemed almost bored, his ice-blue eyes scanning the staff table lazily. The Headmaster leaned forward so his lips touched his fingers.

Ah, he remembered who the boy was, even though it pained him to do so. Every year the Headmaster was given a full background report of every incoming first-year, and Albus had gone over this boy’s report in great detail.

            His name was Jackson Overland.

            Based on appearances alone, no one would ever guess the tragedy that had befallen the boy. Albus would wager to say that none of his fellow students were aware of the incident, though whether that was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

            Jackson had been but seven years old when his family home caught on fire. His parents and younger sister were Muggles and so Jackson’s magical abilities had been difficult to discern up until that point. Usually, muggleborns showed magical ability from the time they walked, but Jackson was an exception. Perhaps that was the reason the Muggleborn Recognition Squad had written him off as a Muggle despite his very faint magical signature.

            According to the Muggle authorities the fire started in the dead of night, when the whole house was asleep. Unfortunately, the central beam of the two-story house fell first, preventing Jackson from reaching his sister and parents. The fire raged on unchecked, and by the time the fire department arrived most of the house was in shambles. The only survivor was a small boy, shaking and trembling, his brown hair bleached a snowy white and his hazel eyes changed to blue.

            The stress and trauma of the experience resulted in Jackson’s magic overloading his system and making itself very much known. Once the Muggle firemen, policemen and neighbors had been made to forget Jackson’s original coloring, Healers had thoroughly examined the boy. Even after countless tests they couldn’t find any negative side effects that resulted from the physical change, and so the boy was taken to his nearest Muggle relatives, who were made aware of Jackson’s magic as well as how to properly introduce him to the magical world.

            From what Albus had read, his older cousin Tatiana and her husband Greg had been nothing but kind and supportive. They raised Jackson as their own and were surprisingly accepting of the presence of magic and the like. However, reports showed that Jackson grew up to be a rebellious and lonely child, using bravado and trickery as a buffer.

            Albus heart ached for the child. He hoped that the boy would find friends at Hogwarts. Perhaps he should invite him for tea…no, that would most likely send the boy running for cover. Albus sighed, reluctantly resigning himself to the fact that he would have to wait for Jackson to come to him. That is, if the boy ever came to him at all.

             The Headmaster pulled his attention away from Jackson because Minerva was prompting him to speak. Albus stood quietly, smiling for a moment at the student body before speaking.  

            “Good evening all! Before we begin, I would like to make a few announcements. To all first-years: the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits unless accompanied by a professor or the groundskeeper. Also, our dear castle’s caretaker, Mr. Filch—” Albus gestured to where Filch stood hunched over his cane, Mrs. Norris curled up around his knobby ankles. “—has asked me to remind all of you that Dung-bombs are now banned from the castle grounds. There are many other banned items, the entirety of which are listed outside of Mr. Filch’s office. There are three hundred and twenty-five items on the list, and as such I would recommend memorizing them as soon as possible. I suggest doing so in alphabetical order, but I encourage creative measures—arranging the variety of items into sonnet form, or perhaps a twelve-part opera.”

            A ripple of laughter swept through the hall, and once it had died down Albus seated himself with a flourish. The corners of Minerva’s mouth twitched as she turned to face the group of first-years.

            “Now, on to the Sorting.”

            The Hat was twitching in preparation to sing. The seam along the lower half of the cap split, causing a few first-years to gasp in surprise. Some of the upperclassmen snickered but a severe look from Minerva quickly put an end to that.

            The Hat’s mouth opened wide in order to sing:

“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

 

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can top them all.

 

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

 

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

 

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

 

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a steady mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

 

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

 

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

            Albus applauded along with the rest, pleasantly surprised as always by the jaunty nature of the Hat’s songs. Every year the song was different, though no less entertaining than the one sung the year before. The first-years stared at the hat, some of them whispering amongst themselves but the majority steeling themselves for what was to come.

             Minerva waited for the applause to subside and then cleared her throat, bespectacled eyes flashing.

            “I will call each of you by name, and when I do, you will sit on this stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head. The Hat will then declare which House you belong to. Are they any questions before we begin?”

            The first-years shook their heads and Albus’ chest swelled at the eager smiles appearing. It was so uplifting to see such youthful faces, such pure expressions of hope and wonder. It almost made the older wizard wish he could go back and relive his own Sorting.

              Minerva unrolled the scroll a bit and gave the entire hall once last sweeping glance before turning her attention to the list of first-years. The Sorting began without a hitch, and Albus smiled and clapped along with the rest of them every time a student was sorted.

            And then—

            “Merida DunBroch!” Minerva called.

            A girl stepped out of the crowd and marched toward the stool. Even if her hair had not been a fiery red mane of curls, her swaggering walk and her thick Scottish brogue as she thanked Minvera would have identified her just as easily. DunBroch was a very prominent and influential pureblood family, and Merida was the first-born daughter of Lord Fergus himself.

            Merida fearlessly hopped up onto the stool, her nose scrunched up in impatience as she waited for Minerva to place the Hat on her head. The moment her face disappeared under the rim, her hands relaxed and her foot ceased tapping against the side of the stool.

            A split second later, the Sorting Hat proclaimed her to be a Gryffindor. Well, that certainly wasn’t a surprise. Her father, Lord DunBroch—Albus had known him as Fergus, a boisterous lad with flaming red hair—had also been in Gryffindor, as had every DunBroch before him. Merida’s mother, Elinor Garthorn, had been a Ravenclaw if Albus’ memory served him correctly.

            Merida hopped off the stool and practically ran to the cheering Gryffindor table. The cheering quieted, and the Sorting went on.

            “Henry Haddock!” was another name that made Albus pay a bit more attention than usual.

            _Another powerful pureblood family_ , he mused. The Haddocks had been around since the age where Vikings ruled and as such still retained much of their Viking heritage. It was the first time in Albus’ memory that a Haddock had attended Hogwarts, and so with that he carefully scanned the first-years for the boy in question.

            Only to be surprised, because Henry Haddock was a small, awkward child with bright green eyes and shaggy auburn hair. Nothing like the Viking-child Albus had been expecting.

            The Haddocks were a proud, often blunt family, leaning toward violence rather than diplomacy. And yet this boy didn’t appear to be capable of any sort of violence, if his thin arms and nervous expression were anything to go by.

            “ _RAVENCLAW_!” the Hat bellowed, and the Ravenclaw table applauded loudly for their newest member. Little Henry looked relieved to be out of the spotlight and hastened to sit down.

            The Headmaster nodded thoughtfully, turning his attention to the Sorting once more. Very interesting indeed, for a Haddock to find his place in Ravenclaw. Albus made a note to keep an eye on young Henry, for he wished to know more about the boy who so unlike the Haddocks he had met in his lifetime.

            Slowly but surely the size of the first-year huddle decreased until only a small group of students remained. Jackson was one of these students; he was staring up at the ceiling, not even attempting to pay attention to the Sorting.

            “Rapunzel Lockwood!” Minerva called out.

            The girl’s first name was unusual enough to make note of, and as such Albus watched carefully as the girl hurried to the stool. Her most distinguishing feature was her beautiful golden-blonde hair. It was arranged in a large, intricate braid and yet it was still long enough to reach the small of her back. Several purple and yellow flower clips adorned the top and bottom of the braid.  

            As Rapunzel approached the stool she met Albus’ eye. The sweet smile she gave him struck him to his core because it was almost _identical_ to Ariana’s smile. Albus smiled back, effortlessly hiding the sadness that weighed on his heart.

            “ _HUFFLEPUFF_!” the Hat declared after just a few moments of deliberation.

            Rapunzel beamed. Her heavy braid swung behind her as she skipped to her table. She was smiling and greeting her housemates before she even sat down, her voice lost in the sounds of clapping and cheering. Albus watched her interact with her peers for a moment more and then forced himself to look away. The benign smile was still on his face, hiding his true thoughts from any who might be watching him.

            Minerva unrolled the last bit of the large scroll, and continued reading off the names. Albus watched Jackson carefully, and when the boy’s name was called he leaned forward slightly.   

            Jackson stepped up the stool. His lips pulled up into a smirk as he sat down, a smirk bereft of humor and seeming more resigned than anything. The Hat fell over his eyes and Jack’s fingers tightened around the edge of the stool until his knuckles turned white.

            The Hat was silent for almost ten minutes. Jack’s elbows were shaking from the force of his grip. To the knowing eye, it was clear that Jackson and the Hat were having a very adamant debate.  

            “ _SLYTHERIN_!” was the Sorting Hat’s final verdict. It was only because Albus was watching the boy’s reaction that he saw the slight, disappointed slumping of thin shoulders. Jackson stood stiffly from the stool and walked over to the Slytherin table, accepting the handshakes and excited cheers of his House with a forced grin that was so practiced that it was almost genuine.

            Almost.

            Albus watched Jackson sit down and let out a soft sigh that was made inaudible by the applause. He had hoped that the boy would be placed in Gryffindor but that desire showed just how little he knew concerning such things. Albus was one wizard and the Sorting Hat had been around for over a thousand years. To question the Hat would be comparable to questioning the Founders themselves.

            Finally, the Sorting came to an end. Albus stood, staring out at the students with a smile on his face. 

            Albus was not an inattentive Headmaster—he cared deeply for all of his students—but he would be lying if he denied the fact that out of all the first-years, four students in particular had caught his attention. As the old wizard scanned the House tables left to right, the faces of Jackson Overland, Rapunzel Lockwood, Merida DunBroch and Henry Haddock stood out among all the rest.

            “Instead of prolonging your hunger, I think it would be best to save the final announcements until the Feast has ended. So I will end this by saying two simple words: lemon drop.”

            And with that, the Headmaster seated himself, flicking his wand and alerting the House Elves working below in the kitchens. With a great surge of magic the food appeared on respective plates. Roased chicken, turkey and pork gleamed deliciously, and along the tables fruits and vegetables were piled high in bronze bowls. The goblets filled themselves with pumpkin juice and water—in Albus’ cup was a delightful mixture of lemonade.

            “To future generations,” Albus toasted quietly amongst the staff. Each of the professors nodded in return and raised their glasses. The students were unaware of their toast, already digging into the food with gusto.

             Albus smiled and drank. The lemonade was perfectly made, sharp and sour with just the slightest hint of sugar. The Headmaster breathed in a deep gulp of air, content to simply bask in the sounds of so many wizards and witches under one roof, united by the search for knowledge.

             After a long summer of emptiness and silence, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was alive once more.


	2. Heading Out

 

Heading Out

* * *

 

            Henry Haddock III—to be fair, only his grandmother called him Henry; everyone else knew him as Hiccup—was having the most wonderful dream. He was soaring high on his broomstick, weaving in and out of other Quidditch players with ease. In the dream he could somehow see himself and he was muscular and fierce, the Viking everyone wanted him to be. When he looked down at the stands he saw Astrid cheering, her blue eyes glowing and her smile directed only at him.

            Reality came crashing down in the form of his kneazle companion and best friend, Toothless.

            Hiccup awoke to the horrifying sensation of a large furry monstrosity lapping at his nose. Immediately his face scrunched up in disgust at the fishy stench that accompanied the rough tongue. The sixteen-year-old shot out of bed, gagging and rubbing frantically at his face with his shirt. A quick look at his digital alarm clock told him that it was 8:30. Hiccup glared over his shoulder at the smug-looking kneazle.

            He was nine years old when his mother brought Toothless home.

The island was home to wild kneazles, most of which stayed out of Berk and any other towns. Kneazles were magical felines that were much larger and more intelligent than domesticated house cats. They were almost dominantly reddish orange-brown, with mottled patterns on their fur and bright gold eyes.

            Valhallarama, Hiccup’s mother,was walking home one night when she found a tiny kneazle cub that couldn’t have been more than a week old. She took one look at the creature and knew what had happened. The cub she found was black as night, with poison-green eyes. The kneazle’s mother had abandoned the cub because of its abnormal coloring, seeing the anomaly as a threat to herself and her other cubs.

            It took a great deal of cajoling but Valhallarama was able to convince her husband that the kneazle would make a perfect companion for their first and only son. Now, at full size, the creature’s head came up to Hiccup’s waist. He was much bigger than the average kneazle—another anomaly to add to the list.

            “Was that _really_ necessary?” Hiccup asked.

Toothless grinned, showing off his sharp white teeth. Pitch-black fur glinted as he jumped over to the window and used his teeth to yank up the blinds. The white-hot sunshine made Hiccup fall back onto his bed with a yell.

            “Gah, okay, I take it back, the licking was completely fine! I _love_ the smell of raw fish in the morning!” Hiccup groaned, rolling over and kicking half-heartedly at Toothless. The kneazle chirped in contentment, slinking over and nuzzling his owner’s side; an affectionate gesture that never failed to destroy Hiccup’s defenses.

            “Yeah, yeah…” he mumbled, but still leaned down to rub behind Toothless’ ears, smiling fondly at the loud purr that filled the air. Hiccup indulged the kneazle for a moment more and then moved to get ready. His trunk was already packed thanks to his mother pushing him to finish the night before. Now all he had to do was get dressed and head down to breakfast.

            Hiccup walked across the cool hardwood floor to his desk and grabbed the clothes draped over the back of the chair. His room was modest, with only the essentials, a few Quidditch posters and some rough charcoal sketches of various invention ideas.

            Most people at school assumed that he lived in a large manor with gold railings and plush furniture, but the honest truth was that the Haddock family didn’t like to follow the trends of most pureblood families. They followed the customs of their Viking ancestors, living simply but still comfortably. The wizarding island of Berk was an old Viking trading post and so most of the residents lived similarly to the Haddocks.

            Hiccup pulled on his Hogwarts robes, yawning loudly as he adjusted his blue and bronze tie. He glanced over at the full-length mirror that leaned against his dresser and his heart sank. Gone was the muscular Viking of his dreams. Instead, Hiccup stared at an awkward, gangly teenager with freckles and green eyes. Playing on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had given him some muscle, but not the kind of muscle that would ever impress Astrid or any other girl on the island.

            Toothless crooned at him, flicking his tail dismissively at the mirror.

            Hiccup smiled half-heartedly at his friend. “You’re not a girl or a human being, but thanks anyway.”  

            He wasn’t sure when he began translating the kneazle’s strange mixture of chirps, growls and tail movements. He could only guess it was because he and Toothless had been attached at the hip ever since Valhallarama had given him to Hiccup, saying that the kneazle was his responsibility to raise and train. The name Toothless came from the fact that Hiccup quickly discovered that the baby creature didn’t have any teeth and as such would have to be fed by bottle.

             Toothless’ ears perked up. In the span of a single breath the kneazle was out the door and disappearing down the narrow spiral of stairs that led to the rest of the house. Hiccup shook his head before snatching his wand off of his bedside table. Tucking it behind his ear for safekeeping, he grabbed his trunk and lugged it behind him, careful not to bang his head against the low ceiling as he traversed the stairs.

            Valhallarama was standing with her back to Hiccup, leaning over the stove upon which bacon and sausages were cooking. Her dark blonde hair was coiled into a simple bun atop her head. Her strong arms continuously moved to keep the various foods from burning. Toothless wasn’t in sight—Hiccup could safely assume that he was outside terrorizing the chickens.

The sudden sounds of terrified clucking confirmed his suspicions.

            Hiccup’s younger sister Freya sat at the table, her brown eyes shining with excitement and her freshly brushed hair gleaming like burnished gold in the sunlight. He couldn’t help but sigh heavily at the sight of her blood-red robes. The eleven-year-old was heading off to Dumstrang that morning along with the rest of the village children. Well, _almost_ all of the children.

Hiccup had been the first islander to attend Hogwarts and would most likely be the last.

            Freya beamed at Hiccup when he entered; her happy smile made Hiccup’s sour mood brighten.

            “Hiccup, Hiccup, look at my robes! Aren’t they _cool_?” the little girl gushed, standing up to spin in a circle in order to give her older brother a better look. Their mother chuckled from her position by the stove, glancing back to give her son a smile. Hiccup smiled back and leaned down to examine Freya’s robes more carefully.

            “Hmm, they’d be almost perfect if you hadn’t spilled jam right _there_ ,” Hiccup mused, reaching down to point at an imaginary splotch on the girl’s stomach. Horrified, Freya looked down, and Hiccup used that opportunity to reach up and flick the girl upside her nose.

            “I guess I was imagining it…” Hiccup shrugged, grinning when Freya stomped her foot.

            “Just you wait until I come home for Christmas! I’ll know magic, and I’ll get you back!” she seethed, cheeks flaring with angry heat.

            “Too bad you can’t use magic outside of school, Frey. You’ve got six more _years_  till you can do that. I’ve only got _one_ ,” Hiccup cheekily reminded her, reaching over to fill his plate with eggs and a few pieces of toast. Valhallarama took the meat off of the stove, turning to raise her eyebrows at her son.

            “Leave her alone, Hiccup,” she scolded, the sternness of her tone softened by the plentiful amount of bacon she slid onto his plate. “While she can’t use magic,  _I_ certainly can, and I have half a mind to teach you a lesson. Freya, sit down and finish your eggs. The boat ride to Dumstrang is very long.”

            At the mention of the magical school, Freya’s irritation disappeared. Hiccup snorted. Without missing a beat his sister deftly kicked his ankle. He yelped involuntarily and Freya smirked evilly at the high-pitched outburst.

            Watching carefully for his mother, Hiccup flicked a piece of toast at Freya.  Without a moment of hesitation she snatched it out of the air and ate it. The food war continued for a while longer, more out of habit than to actually antagonize, and a comfortable silence soon fell over the kitchen. For the first time in a long while, Hiccup actually wanted to linger at breakfast.

            But then, as if sensing Hiccup’s happiness, life decided to send in the one person who could ruin it all.

            “Where’s my baby girl?” Stoick Haddock bellowed from the door.

Freya laughed, shoving the last sausage in her mouth and running to meet her father. Stoick reached over to kiss his wife, who joined him in admiring their daughter’s Dumstrang robes. Hiccup’s shoulders slumped; in the span of ten seconds, he had ceased to exist.

            “The other kids are just about ready, Freya. Are you ready? Your trunk’s all packed?”

“Duh!” Freya said, rolling her eyes. Stoick beamed at his daughter, reaching down to rub her head affectionately. The sight made Hiccup’s shoulders deflate even more.

“I don’t know why I asked! Now give me a few minutes and we’ll head over.”  

            With that, and without a single word to Hiccup, Stoick moved into the living room. Hiccup pushed his plate away, his appetite having vanished almost as quickly as his good mood. Valhallarama’s hands on his shoulders surprised him, and Hiccup looked up to see his mother giving him a comforting smile.

            “He _is_ proud of you, Hiccup. He just—”

            “Has trouble showing it?” Hiccup supplied, scoffing. “I think I’m going to head out to school early, Mom. Maybe hang out with Hagrid for a bit before the Feast.”

            “Honey…”

            “I’ve got to get Toothless’ harness ready.”

            Hiccup got to his feet, moving away from his mother’s hands and putting his dish in the sink. Stoick came back into the room noisily and Hiccup looked back, because maybe his father would finally have something to _say_  to him. All he got was a quick clap on the back and a nod, and then Stoick’s attention was back on Freya.

            Hiccup got his trunk and left out the side entrance to where the broom shed was. He set his trunk down in the grass, and let out a great sigh, leaning his head against the solid oak of the shed wall. It was warm against his skin, and he breathed in deep. He pretended not to hear his mother approaching.

            “You’re at least going to see Freya off, aren’t you? I know that she’ll want you there,” she murmured.

Hiccup laughed without much humor.

            “She’ll be fine. Dad and the others will be there.”

            Valhallarama’s hand rested lightly between Hiccup’s shoulder blades. He was taller than her but she was built like the other Viking women on the island: muscular, sturdy, and intimidating. Her eyes were a deep forest green. The distinctive eye color was the only feature Hiccup had inherited from his mother. The rest—the auburn hair, the freckles, the unfortunate gap between his two front teeth—had all come from his father.

            “You’re her older brother; she’s always looked up to you.”

            “Well, that’ll change real quick. A few months at Dumstrang and she’ll be just like the rest of them. Face it, Mom. Here, I’m a nobody,” Hiccup’s voice cracked, and he cursed the hurt present in his voice. He wasn’t sure why he was getting so emotional all of a sudden but he was, and he _hated_ it.

            He had known that it would hurt, seeing Stoick fawn and coddle Freya on her first day of school, but imagining it and experiencing it were two very different things. 

            Hiccup rubbed his face with both hands, coughing roughly to dislodge the lump in his throat. His mother waited for a few moments before speaking.

            “Your father and I _love_  you. It’s just that your father, well, he’s a Viking. He’s very traditional in that sense and you’re…well, you’re _not_ traditional. Just give it time. Everything will work out, I promise.”

            With a final pat on his back Valhallarama turned and walked down the path to the main road. Hiccup ran a hand through his hair and looked down at Toothless, who had approached so silently that Hiccup hadn’t noticed. The kneazle was staring up at him with knowing eyes. Hiccup sighed, reaching down to rub his friend’s head. Toothless nudged him gently in the direction of the lake where the Dumstrang students would soon be departing.

            Hiccup sighed. “Better give the rest one last chance to make fun of me before we all head out, huh?” he asked his friend, who snorted at his pessimism.

            A ten-minute walk was all it took to reach the Berk Lake and, as always, Hiccup’s heart ached at the sight of the proud ship docked there. The flag waved in the wind, blazing with the red dragon sigil of Dumstrang. The plank was already extended; from his current vantage point he could see the large mass of students ready to board. His heart skipped at the sight of Astrid, her long blonde hair blowing around her face. Gods help him, she got prettier every year. It really was too bad that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

            Hiccup was grateful that they hadn’t noticed him yet. He could just hang back and observe the goodbyes. He wouldn’t have to stand by and watch Stoick hug Freya tight and ask her to write if she needed anything.

            Stoick hadn’t asked Hiccup to write, not once.

            Hiccup saw his mother and father standing near Freya, who was looking around nervously. The other children were friendly with her, mock-punching her shoulder and urging her to join their little circles. But for some reason Freya kept brushing them off, her eyes scanning the crowds of families.

            Then, she saw Hiccup, and relief bled across her face. She ran toward him, past the other kids, past the families and across the grass that separated Hiccup from the rest. She slid to a stop in front of him, her boots slick with mud.

            “Thought you were gonna be too chicken to show up,” Freya declared boldly but there was no bite to her taunt. She was pale, her hands trembling slightly, and Hiccup frowned. Where had all of her excitement gone? Hadn’t she been more than eager to leave?

            “Frey, are you okay?”

Freya nodded, staring down at her boots. They were new, made of dragon-skin and a birthday gift from Stoick. Seeing them caked in dirt and grass made Hiccup oddly proud. Under all the Dumstrang attire Freya was still his sister, the girl who liked running around and exploring the forests with him during summertime.  

            Toothless licked Freya’s hand and the girl sniffed, almost too quietly for Hiccup to hear. But he did hear it, and so he knelt down so that he and his sister were temporarily the same height. Her eyes were shining with tears.  
  
            “I don’t want to go, Hiccup.”

            Well, _that_  certainly wasn’t what Hiccup was expecting to hear.

Freya only hesitated for a second before speaking again:

            “It’s not _fair_  that you have to go to Hogwarts and the rest of us go to Dumstrang. I mean, I like the rest of them fine, but none of them like to go on adventures with me. None of them can tell me stories and cool stuff about trees and animals, none of them will invent funny ways to get out of doing chores, none of them…”

She trailed off, avoiding his gaze and anxiously tangling her fingers together. Before Hiccup could begin to think of a response, Freya looked up at him. 

            “I want to go with _you_ , Hiccup.”

Hiccup’s breath seemed to evade his grasp, as if he had just run a great distance. He cleared his throat and put a hand on Toothless for support. The kneazle purred; the vibrations were soothing against Hiccup’s fingers.

             “I want to go with you, too, Frey,” he softly admitted. “More than you know. But…”

            Hiccup looked up at the crowd of Berk kids, laughing and playing by the lake. His mother’s words came back to him and for the very first time, he didn’t feel jealous. He smiled, knowing exactly what he needed to say. They were the words he wished he could have heard six years ago when _he_  was the one heading off to wizarding school for the first time.

            “You belong at Dumstrang, Frey. Sure, it’ll be hard at times; heck, you’ll probably want to tear your hair out more than once. The schoolwork will be tough, there will be bullies and difficult teachers, and there will be moments where you just want to lay down and give up,” he assured her. Hiccup paused, seeing the dejected look start to appear on his sister’s face. He leaned down and craned his head to force her to meet his gaze.

            “But guess what? It’s _all_  worth it. You’re going to a place where you get to learn _magic_ , where you’ll duel and brew mysterious potions. You’ll make loads of good friends because you’re _smart_  and _fearless_ , the kind of person people want to be friends with. You’re…you’re going to be just fine, Frey. You’re a Haddock, and Haddocks…” Hiccup swallowed hard. “Haddocks are Vikings.”

            “But you’re not a Viking,” Freya reminded him matter-of-factly, without any of the malice usually equipped by the other island children.

Hiccup chuckled at the simple truth in her words. “Nah, I’m too muscular and manly for their tastes. They wouldn’t know what to do with all _this_.” He gestured to himself, puffing out his chest and dramatically flexing his muscles—or lack thereof.

            Freya giggled. Hiccup lowered his arms, glad to see his sister smiling again.

            What he didn’t anticipate was Freya lunging forward to hug him. She did it without giving him any sort of warning and Hiccup stiffened in surprise. But it only took him a second to return the embrace.  

            Hiccup never realized how much he was going to miss his sister until that moment by the lake, when she wasted valuable time with her peers and parents just to say goodbye to _him_ of all people.

            It made it hurt all the more when Freya finally did board the ship with the rest of the students. Hiccup waved but he doubted that she saw him. The ship gave one loud blare before beginning to sink below the surface of the lake.   

            Valhallarama left Stoick’s side and strode up the path. She gave Hiccup a knowing look as she came to stand next to him—she clearly hadn’t missed the goodbye Freya had given him. Both of them looked out toward the lake, watching the ship sink in silence for a while.

            “You say that Freya will treat you like the other children do, but the way I see it, there’s no way she could _ever_  be like them,” his mother murmured.

            “Why?” Hiccup asked, confused.

            His mother smiled. “Because none of the other children have _you_  as an older brother. You don’t conform; so why would Freya feel the need to?”

            Toothless gave a sharp chirp; his tail brushing against the watch on Hiccup’s wrist.

            Hiccup nodded at his friend. “I should get going, Mom. I really do want to check in with Hagrid before the Feast. Before we left for summer break he told me that one of the hippogriffs was due to give birth in the fall. I’m hoping that I can be there to help out.” 

            Valhallarama looked disappointed but didn’t argue. Instead, she walked with him back to the house. Hiccup didn’t particularly feel like having an awkward goodbye with his father, and so he wasn’t too disappointed when Stoick didn’t follow them.

            With the help of his mother, Hiccup retrieved the wood and leather contraption he had made with the help of Gobber, the village carpenter and handyman. The platform basket would strap across the back of his Nimbus 2001, secured to Hiccup through a simple harness. This allowed Toothless to ride with Hiccup on his broomstick.

            While Hiccup and Toothless got strapped in, Valhallarama helped by shrinking all of Hiccup’s luggage so that it could fit easily in the boy’s pocket. She also gave Hiccup a large lunch to tide him over until the Feast.

            “Be sure to write your sister,” Valhallarama commanded as she attempted to pat Hiccup’s hair into place. The teen rolled his eyes, knowing that the wind would muss it up no matter how much she tried to tidy it but also knowing better than to tell her so.

            “I will.”

            “Have a good flight, honey. Be safe! Remember that story about Uncle Fili?”  
  
            “ _Bye_ , Mom!” Hiccup laughed, urging his broom to start ascending. The flight to Hogwarts was around four hours. He had never taken the Hogwarts Express; that was for students who lived in England and Wales. The older students that lived in Ireland and Scotland (or Berk, in his unique case) and chose not to fly usually took a portkey to Hogsmeade Village, and from there met up with the rest of the student body.

            “He was just flying, minding his own business, when one of those Muggle airplanes just came out of _nowhere_ —”

            Hiccup groaned. “The reason Uncle Fili almost got killed by an airplane is because he was _drunk_. He was staring down at his own feet because he thought if he looked hard enough, he’d find the end of the rainbow. Trust me Mom, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he called down to her.  

            Valhallarama beamed proudly. “I know I don’t. Have fun, and be sure to bring some friends home for Christmas!”

            “Yeah, I’ll do that when  _hell_  freezes over,” he muttered under his breath, smiling and waving to fool his mother for the time being. Hiccup hooked his feet more securely in the metal footholds and looked down at his compass, clipped securely to the front of his broom. He shifted so he was facing east, toward the mainland, and leaned low over his broom.

            _Next stop, Hogwarts._

 

* * *

 

 

            “Jackson, are you awake? We need to leave soon if we’re going to get to the station on time!” Tatiana called down the hall, the sounds of her husband cooking breakfast loud and obnoxious.

            Jackson Overland _hated_  it when people used his full name. His aunt and uncle seemed to forget that constantly, not that it surprised him. The people couldn’t seem to take a hint that he didn’t like interacting with them more than he had to.

            The boy sighed, opening his eyes and looking over at his alarm clock. He had been awake for at least an hour now, and so he wasn’t surprised to see 8:30 printed there. The white-haired boy stared at the clock for a moment longer before getting out of bed, pulling on his Hogwarts robes quickly and without much thought. Jack considered his green and silver tie but quickly scoffed, stuffing the tie into his pocket instead.

He was crap at tying ties, anyway.

            Jack began absentmindedly tossing loose items around the room into his trunk. Oops, he had almost forgotten his Transfiguration textbook, better put that in there…

            Tem minutes later, he locked the clasp on his trunk. It only took three rounds of Jack sitting atop it to shut it, which was better than usual. His wand was on his desk, and he grabbed it before leaving the room. Jack lived out of his trunk when he came home for the summer and so the room was as impersonal and bland as it had been a few years ago when Greg and Tatiana moved to the house and gave Jack the pre-furnished room. The walls were a pale blue, the curtains white and pristine. The bed was neatly made, because for all of his untidiness, Jack didn’t like others cleaning up his messes. Well, almost all of his messes. Pranks were an entirely different story.

            After brushing his teeth Jack headed down the hall and into the kitchen. Greg— a tall man with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes—turned to smile at Jack when he came in. Tatiana handed him a plate of food, brushing the boy’s head affectionately. She was a marathon runner, small and thin with pale skin and light brown hair.

            The motherly gesture made the Jack’s teeth clench but he allowed it, because if he pushed her hand away Tatiana would get all _emotional_  again. Greg would sit Jack down and look at him with sad disappointment, pretending that he was Jack’s father. But that was the problem; Tatiana and Greg _weren’t_ his parents.

            They acted like they were, but Jack had known from a very young age that they weren’t. He wasn’t sure if it was his magic that made him remember or if it was the trauma, but the… _incident_...was still fresh in his mind. The Muggle therapists Jack had seen all told him that he was too young to remember details of the fire, too young to remember his family, but that’s where they were wrong.

            _Mommy and Daddy were screaming. The smoke hurt his lungs, the fire was burning burning burning and little Emma was_ crying _–_

Of course, Jack never told his aunt and uncle about his unfortunate memory, or any of the therapists, because they wouldn’t believe him. They’d all smile sadly, and say “It’s okay, Jack, we understand.”

            They didn’t understand.

But Jack was beyond caring about what they thought because soon he’d be able to move out of his aunt and uncle’s place for good. His seventeenth birthday was on April 3rd, and from that moment on he wasn’t legally bound to stay with Greg and Tatiana anymore.

            April couldn’t come fast enough.

            “Are you all packed?” Tatiana asked kindly and Jack nodded, sitting down at the table and shoveling down his food as quickly as he could. The faster he ate, the faster they would be at Kings Cross.

            The sound of water running and dishes clinking together filled the silence for a few minutes as Jack finished his breakfast and Greg cleaned the dishes.

            Jack put his dish in the sink before rejoining him and Tatiana in the living room. Greg had Jack’s trunk in one hand but Jack quickly relieved him of it.

            “I don’t mind getting it, Jack,” Greg offered.  

            Jack shook his head. “It’s fine, I got it. Can we go?”

            Greg and Tatiana sent each other a quick look, and Jack had to take a deep breath and count to ten. He was so close to calling them out on it, to demanding that they stop treating him like a child and actually _talk_ to him. Maybe that was why he hated them so much. They were so stuck in playing the part of parents that they ignored what _Jack_  needed. Jack didn’t need parents or siblings—he had already had and _lost_  those.

            A few hours later, Greg was pulling into Kings Cross. Jack scrambled out of the car, getting a cart and lifting his trunk onto it. Greg and Tatiana chatted with him, attempted to pull him into the conversation, but Jack was too close to finally _leaving_  to put much thought into answering. He maneuvered through the masses of people trying to get to their trains and his mood lightened with every step he took. Platform 7, Platform 8…only one more….there!  
            A large brick wall separated the hanging signs of Platform 9 and Platform 10. Jack turned to his uncle and aunt, smiling for the first time that morning.

            “Well, goodbye,” Jack said, and turned to leave. But of course Tatiana grabbed him and hugged him tightly. Her perfume was something expensive and flowery; as much as he wanted to hate it, the scent was oddly comforting. Greg’s hand was warm on Jack’s shoulder and for a split second Jack wanted to believe that they were his parents.

            Jack gently but firmly pulled away and gave a small wave before casually walking into the brick wall, briskly and confidently enough so that the Muggle passerby wouldn’t notice.

            Jack was so used to the odd pressure of the magical barrier that he wasn’t the least bit fazed by it anymore. He glanced up to see the new golden sign that read: _Platform 9¾._

            “Well, look who decided to show up!” a thick Australian accent drawled, making Jack grin as he turned to face the speaker. 

Aster Mund was tall, with broad shoulders, bright green eyes and black hair that hung loose around his ears.

            “Aster!” Jack loudly greeted his best friend. The two embraced, Aster thumping Jack on the back with gusto. Something was poking against Jack’s chest and he pulled back to investigate. He crowed at the sight of a shiny Head Boy badge—a year earlier than expected, but hey, still a win on Jack’s end.

 

            “I _knew  it_! Didn’t I tell you that you’d get it? Wait, you didn’t think that _this_  was worth mentioning in your letter?”

            Aster rolled his eyes. “And what, get a whole roll of parchment tellin’ me that you told me so? No thanks, mate.”

            “I’m hurt, Aster. You know that I would _never_ —”

            “Save it, Jack. And don’t think for one bloody second that this gives you free reign to do whatever you want!”

            “Wouldn’t dream of it, man. Wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

            Aster sighed. “And to think I actually missed you…”

            “Aw, you _do_ care!”

            “Now you _are_ dreaming, mate! Are we gonna find a compartment or not?”

            The two teens made their way to the steaming train, saying hello to a few of their Slytherin housemates along the way.

            “Woah,” Jack muttered as they passed a couple ferociously kissing and groping each other. “Jacob and Terra, huh? Who would’ve thought?”

            Aster made a face at the display and Jack laughed at his friend’s discomfort. “C’mon, Aster, surely you haven’t been a lily-white all summer! Surely there was _someone_ …”

            Aster’s concerted effort to not meet Jack’s eyes was answer enough.

            “Aha! So there _was_ someone!”

            Aster didn’t respond, and after a few more jabs Jack let the subject drop. Aster was a very private person; years of best-friendship had given Jack a healthy respect for his personal space. Besides, it only took a few shots of Firewhiskey for Aster to loosen up and spill, so Jack would find out one way or the other. Speaking of Firewhiskey, Jack made a mental note to check with Miranda Fuller about getting a few bottles…

            Aster found an empty compartment and he and Jack made themselves at home. A few more of their Slytherin friends found their way into the compartment—Tamara and Sandra Russo, fraternal twin sisters who were a year below Jack.

            Soon, the compartment was filled with conversation and laughter. Jack was so caught up that he almost didn’t notice the train beginning to move. He looked out the window, his chest swelling with joy at the sight of the buildings turning into trees and countryside. He caught Aster’s eye and the two smiled at each other. Jack leaned back into his seat, allowing himself to relax fully for the first time since the beginning of summer.

            He was finally going home.

 

           

* * *

 

 

            Rapunzel Lockwood’s hands and cheeks were smudged with dirt but she didn’t think to wipe it away, too focused on making sure the moonlace was properly in place. She had placed it in the pot the night before and now she was just making sure that the pot was clean. It was a gift, after all.

            Moving quickly, Rapunzel brushed the side with instant-drying magical paint that would gleam all sorts of different colors. Her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as she carefully wrote a name along the pot. She needed to get ready to leave for Kings Cross but first she had to make sure that the gift was perfect.

            Glancing at her watch, she squeaked when she saw that it was nearly 8:30. Dad and Elena would be awake by now!

            Rapunzel grabbed the pot and racing out the large greenhouse. It had been Rapunzel’s mother’s greenhouse, when she was still alive. Rapunzel paused before closing the door, touching the golden wind-chime that hung there. Her father, Elliot Lockwood, had given the wind-chime to his wife at the time of their wedding. It was charmed to play pretty songs when the wind was quiet, an unusual quality that never failed to delight Rapunzel when she was growing up.

            Rapunzel had never met her mother. Primrose Lockwood, a world-renowned Herbologist and muggleborn witch, died a few hours after Rapunzel was born, but not before holding and naming her. According to her father, Rapunzel’s mother smiled through the pain, hugging her daughter close and saying that she had never seen a more perfect child.

            Elliot still had numerous pictures. After pouring over them for hours and hours, Rapunzel imagined that she could remember being held and looking up at her mother’s dark blue eyes and golden-blonde hair. It was because of Primrose that Rapunzel chose to keep her hair so long; at a very young age Rapunzel took one look at her mother’s long braided hair and wanted nothing more than to copy her. And so, ever since then, Rapunzel’s thick golden hair always fell below her waist. Rapunzel hardly ever had it down and loose, though. For practicality’s sake she usually charmed it into an intricate braid, though when she was home she had to braid it by hand.  

            Rapunzel burst into the kitchen. Her father and his girlfriend were just sitting down at the table, and laughed kindly at her flustered, dirt-smudged state. Elliot and Elena had been dating for four years now; Elena had only been living with Rapunzel and her father for one of those years. 

            Elena Atten was very different from Rapunzel’s mother. She had dark red, shoulder-length hair, dark brown eyes, and was nearly as tall as Rapunzel’s father. She worked alongside Elliot in the Ministry’s Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office.

            Elliot Lockwood smiled. “Good morning, sweetheart—”

            “Welcome to the family, Elena!” Rapunzel happily interrupted, offering Elena the pot of moonlace. The woman’s soon-to-be title ( _Elena Lockwood_ ) was written on the side in slightly crooked cursive, and flickered with all the colors of the rainbow.

            Elliot’s eyes bugged out slightly. “Rapunzel, how on earth did you know that—” he sputtered.

Elena accepted the pot in her right hand, and once she had done so Rapunzel reached out and lifted the woman’s free left hand, showing off the simple diamond ring on her fourth finger.

            “I’ve known for  _weeks_  that you were going to ask her, Dad! You’re not as sneaky as you think you are. Also, I saw this on her finger when you came back from your date last night. I’m just so happy it finally _happened_!”

            Elena set down the pot to properly hug Rapunzel. “Thank you so much for the gift, Rapunzel. It’s moonlace, right?”

            “Yep! Professor Sprout gave me some before summer break. It’s bioluminescent, and it only flowers at night. The flowers smell like peppermint, which is strange but really nice!”

            Elliot had calmed down some. “Well, this saves me the trouble of breaking the news to you over Christmas.”

            “So when’s the wedding?” Rapunzel asked, grabbing a peach from the fruit bowl. She was never really that hungry in the mornings but since she wouldn’t be able to have a proper meal until dinnertime, Rapunzel felt that she should eat _something_.

            Elena poured some cereal, frowning. “Well, your father and I haven’t picked an exact date,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

            “But we’re thinking early summer, so it doesn’t interfere with NEWTs. You’re done by when, June 10th?” her father asked as he spread marmalade on his toast.

            “I’m not sure, but that sounds about right. I’ll owl you when I find out for sure,” Rapunzel replied, wiping at some stray peach juice on her chin.

            It really was great that they were getting married. Elliot had waited until Rapunzel was ten before dating again, and the first few women just weren’t the right fit. Rapunzel hadn’t liked any of them, and was beginning to get discouraged when one day, Elliot brought Elena home. Then, everything changed.

            Elena made her father so, _so_  happy. There was no one who could replace Primrose, no one tried to pretend any differently, but at the same time Rapunzel didn’t want her father to be alone for the rest of his life. She liked to think that her mother would have thought similarly.

            Rapunzel finished her snack and raced to get ready. She brushed and braided her hair, using sparing amounts of _Madam Tullio’s Detangler_. The potion worked to add shine to her hair without making it greasy and kept her hair untangled even when Rapunzel took it out of her braid. It also smelled like honeysuckle, which was her favorite scent.

            Once her yellow and black tie was snug against the collar of her shirt she slipped her robes on, humming as she examined her reflection in the mirror. Rapunzel tucked an invisible strand of hair behind her ear, her green eyes—her father’s eyes—scanning her reflection for any stubborn dirt.

            “Okay, let’s go!” Rapunzel called once she was satisfied, stowing her wand in her pocket so she could use both hands to carry her trunk. Elliot and Elena had finished eating by then and waited patiently by the door. With a flick of her wand Elena levitated Rapunzel’s trunk and moved it to the trunk of the car. Thanking her, Rapunzel followed the two adults out of the house and into the sunshine.

            They lived in the countryside, an hour and a half from London. It was early fall but the fields and trees remained stubbornly green. Rapunzel basked in the warmth, closing her eyes briefly and breathing in the smell of her home. She would only be gone until Christmas but she would still miss it.

“Rapunzel, are you ready?” Elliot asked, and the girl nodded, hopping into the car and closing the door behind her.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

            “Aaaaaannnnnnnn’ with a swing of her mighty arm, DunBroch sends the Blugder _straight_  into Overland’s fat, oversized face! Looks like the _Over_ land’s goin’ _Under_ land for this one—under a _grave_  it looks like! The crowd goes wild; Gryffindor’s on _fire_!”

            Merida DunBroch whooped, swinging her imaginary bat and performing a victory loop around the small makeshift Quidditch arena set up by the stables. Her fiery curls streamed behind her as she flew and her laugh echoed in the empty field. The early morning sun streamed in through the clouds, making Merida squint and wheel around to avoid the blinding sunshine.

            In the center of nearly fifty acres of land was the DunBroch Manor. Thanks to Merida’s mother, it was fully furnished with all of the latest finery. Tasteful finery, but still much too fine for Merida to appreciate. Her pale blue eyes dismissively passed over the grand walls of the manor, instead seeking out the large lake just beyond. Now _that_  she could appreciate. What was a better way to cool down on a hot summer’s day than a nice, long swim?

            The smile slid off of her face when a yawn nearly split her jaw in half. The last two sleepless nights were beginning to catch up to her. The first sleepless night was because of having to take a chaperoned _walk around the grounds_ with that absolute buffoon Scott MacGuffin and having to hear his and her mother gossping and scheming like bloody _hens_  not ten steps behind them. Merida scowled as the memories of last night threatened to surface. The argument with her mother had worn at her mind all night, leaving her tossing and turning until dawn arrived.

            “Me, _marry_? Mum’s out of her mind!” she muttered, leaning her head down so that her forehead touched the warm wood of her Firebolt. Her father, Fergus DunBroch, had gotten it for her on her thirteenth birthday. It was the most precious thing in her possession; she valued it more than her own life. It let her fly faster than a horse or a train train and she adored the feeling of the wind ripping at her hair as she soared.

            In the sky, at least, she was free.

            Merida sat on her broom for a while longer until the gentle ringing of her wristwatch drew her out of her melancholy. The pretty silver device read half past eight. The Scottish girl groaned but dutifully began her descent. She unconsciously curled her legs up as far as they would go, as if to avoid the inevitable moment where she would no longer be airborne.

            “Don’t be a coward,” she hissed to herself, purposefully sliding off of her broom. She determinedly didn’t look up at the sky, didn’t look at the three wooden goal hoops that were more beautiful than anything. More beautiful than any stupid alliance with the MacGuffin family.

            _“Merida, in a few short months you will be of age, and as firstborn it is your_ duty  _to marry favorably!”_

 _“But Mum, I don’t_ want  _to marry! I want to play–”_

 _“Quidditch? Merida, you can’t honestly think that your little hobby will go anywhere? You are a DunBroch, you are my_ daughter _, and I will_ not _let you throw away your chance for happiness.”_

 _“Haven’t you been listenin’ to a word I’ve said? Playin’_ Quidditch _makes me happy, Mum!”_

_“I can see that you need more time to come to terms with this. We’ll lay the subject to rest until you come home for Christmas. By then, you’ll have had time to think about what’s best for this family.”_

Merida sighed, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. She slipped in through the side entrance to the manor and slowly walked up the stairs to her room. Usually she’d run up the stairs, but that morning she couldn’t seem to find the energy.

            Her room was the only room her mother’s decorating hadn’t sullied. Merida had pushed her father until he gave her permission to decorate her own room, and she couldn’t be happier with the chance to do what she liked.

            A simple red rug adorned the floor and a comfortable armchair was tilted toward the fireplace, her favorite book dog-eared and worn in its position on the chair seat. Posters of various Quidditch teams covered the wall parallel to the door. The Scottish National team was one of her favorites by default, but if she were to be honest with herself Ireland was leagues ahead of Scotland. On the wall nearest her bed were pictures of Merida’s time at Hogwarts. There were pictures of Merida with Agnus Tully, her best friend, both of them smiling widely at the camera and laughing. Several of the pictures starred the Gryffindor Quidditch team, taken after winning the Quidditch Cup. Merida had been Beater ever since her second year, and she and the rest of the team had worked their tails off to get skilled enough to win the Cup two years in a row. If they kept up their hard work they’d make it three years in a row this season.

            A fire was crackling in the fireplace opposite her bed. Merida pulled off her boots and set them near the hearth to warm up. She stripped out of her leggings and turtleneck before taking a quick shower. After she was done and dried, she snatched up the robes that were lying out on her bed. She pulled them on and tried unsuccessfully to tie her red and gold tie.

            “Damn it all!” Merida growled as she furiously tugged and folded. The end result was a loose knot instead of a neat tie. The girl ran a hand through her hair, silently thanking her father for already having shrunk her school luggage. It would make leaving a much quicker process.

            The trunk was tiny; the size of an eraser, and Merida put it in her jeans pocket before securely clipping her outer robes shut. The Hogwarts crest shone proudly at her breast, the colors of the four houses bright and vibrant as always.

            Merida grabbed her Firebolt, moving with more energy at the thought of Hogwarts. At school, she was just Miss DunBroch, a Quidditch-loving Gryffindor. She was just Merida.

            That was all she ever wanted to be.

            The Scottish witch made sure that her wand was securely clipped to the wand-holder strapped to her forearm. The mechanism was genius, really. One press of a lever with her middle finger, and her wand would drop into her hand in the span of a second.

            Merida ran down the stairs to the manor dining room where she knew her father would be waiting to send her off. She found her father sitting at the table along with her triplet brothers, Harris, Hubert and Hamish. Their red curly heads barely topped the table, but they managed to get to the fruit tarts easily enough.

             Fergus DunBroch looked up from his porridge and grinned at the sight of his daughter.

            “I take it yer ready to go?”

            Merida nodded and grabbed a few tarts for herself, sticking her tongue out at the indignant cries of her brothers. She sat down for a few minutes, focusing on eating her breakfast while Fergus finished his.

            “Merida, I know that we’re not suppose’ to talk about it, but I jus’ want you to know…yer mother is just tryin’ to help. She means well,” Fergus said consolingly.

 Merida didn’t answer. She wasn’t trying to be stubborn; she just didn’t know what to say.

            Fergus didn’t seem to mind her lack of response. He scraped the last of his porridge out of his bowl before getting to his feet. Merida hastened to mimic him while Fergus turned to his sons.

            “Alright, up with the lot of you, time to say goodbye to Merida!”

            “That’s right lads, kiss your poor lass of a sister goodbye!” Merida taunted, leaning down and poking her cheek for emphasis. The three boys whined simultaneously, but then their eyes lit up. They exchanged identical looks of triumph.

            “Uh oh,” Fergus muttered, and Merida watched as her three brothers trotted over to her, tarts in hand. Each one looked her in the eye, innocent as wee little lambs.

            “Bye Merida!” they chorused. Then, they smeared the tarts all over their faces and jumped up to kiss their sister’s face.

            “Blech!” Merida whined, grabbing for a napkin to wipe the combination of jam and crumbs off of her face. The triplets waved and were gone before Merida could do much as threaten.

            Fergus roared with laughter. “C’mon lass, let’s get you on the road,” he suggested after wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. Merida scowled at his smirk but obediently grabbed her broom before following him outside.

The cobblestone path leading to the courtyard was smooth against her shoes, warmed by the sunshine. Hogwarts was only two hours away on her Firebolt—the castle was in the valley just beyond the Reilh mountain range that resided west of the DunBroch estate.

            “Mum isn’t comin’ to send me off this year, is she?” Merida asked. Fergus shook his head.

            “I’m afraid she’s still a bit… _furious_ …about last night. Aye, better that you both have some time apart. To simmer down, y’know?”

            “Aye,” Merida agreed, and gripped her Firebolt tighter as they entered the courtyard. It was a very peaceful place made of white stone. The pillars were carved with Scottish heroes of old, along with beasts and flowers. Prickly vines grew along the low walls, small purple flowers bright against the stone.

            Merida hugged her father tightly, burying her face into the strength of his embrace. He kissed the top of her head and leaned back until his daughter looked up at him.   

            “Go get ‘em, lass.”

            “I will, Dad.”

            Merida pulled away and mounted her broom. It hovered, waiting for her command, and she gave her father one last grin before leaning forward and shooting into the sky.


End file.
